when she was at the school, those needs were met by the matrons, from wiping noses and bottoms to tending cuts and bruises, and occasionally comforting a crying child, until such time as the children learned not to cry.
Hava said, ‘My mother … I lost her before I was seven years old. I really don’t remember too much about her …’
Molly turned slightly so she could glance at Hava, then returned her attention to where they were going. ‘See that dip ahead?’
‘Yes.’
‘Follow me,’ she instructed, seemingly unburdened by the heavy deer she was carrying across her shoulders. When they reached the dip, Molly said, ‘This little rill here has been cut by run-off when it rains. Check and you’ll see which end is lower. If you get lost up here, look for a stream and follow it downhill. There’s a river on the other side of a road the baron’s family cut through here years ago, and if you follow any of them it will lead you to that road. Turn west and in less than an hour you’re back at Beran’s Hill.’
‘If there’s a road nearby, why aren’t we taking it?’
Molly chuckled. ‘Roads mean people. People mean that animals only cross at night when people aren’t around.’ She lifted her chin to her left and added, ‘That’s a game trail. See how it’s packed earth and rocks?’
Hava nodded.
‘You follow those to find game or water.’ Molly grinned. ‘You’re very good with a bow. We’ll hunt again soon and I’ll teach you some woodlore.’
‘I’d like that,’ Hava replied.
Molly took a step, then froze. Hava became motionless a second later, her training instinctively taking over so that she was ready for whatever came next. She put down the bag of entrails, silently drew an arrow from her hip quiver and nocked it to her bowstring.
Molly unloaded the deer carcass onto a small flat rock outcropping, letting her shoulder pack drop next to it; then she pulled an arrow from her quiver and nodded approval at Hava already being ready for trouble.
Hava remained motionless and silent, waiting for Molly’s instruction. Molly lifted her chin to show the direction she wished to move. Hava fell in behind her, glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone was following, an old city habit.
Molly moved with purpose and Hava could tell from her posture and economy of motion that she was ready for a fight, though her quiet caution also told Hava that Molly wasn’t looking for one.
Then Hava heard what had alerted Molly. Riders approaching: the sound of them growing noticeably louder. Molly headed down a slope, then knelt low.
Hava knelt beside her and saw there was a break in the trees a dozen yards or so ahead, and beyond that, the road. Within moments the party of riders came into view, moving at an easy canter, a gait designed to cover long distances quickly without ruining the horses. As they passed, the man in front raised his arm and reined in a bit, and the horses slowed to a trot.
As they rode out of view, Molly stood up and said, ‘Come on.’
‘We’re going to follow them?’ asked Hava. ‘What about the deer?’
Molly shouldered her bow. ‘Scavengers are already on it. There are more deer to hunt.’ She pointed up the road. ‘This is more interesting.’
‘A company of mercenaries on their way to Port Colos is interesting?’
‘Did you see how they reined in on command?’ Molly asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Not mercenaries. Soldiers dressed like mercenaries. They rode in formation and reined in on a hand signal. Well-trained cavalry.’
Hava chided herself; she should have noticed that. ‘The baron’s?’
‘If they turn south, they’re the baron’s.’
‘If they don’t, they’re someone else’s.’
‘Interesting?’
Hava nodded, her expression conceding Molly’s point. ‘Very.’
Molly started to move up the road at a fast walk, and as Hava caught up they both broke into a jogging run.
THEY MANAGED TO STAY CLOSE enough to the riders to keep them in earshot, as the soldiers disguised as mercenaries were travelling at a modest trot and the women were alternately running and jogging. Finally, when the sound of hoofbeats stopped, Molly glanced at Hava and gestured that they should move into the trees and keep following out of sight.
After skirting the road for a few minutes, Hava glimpsed the riders through the trees. The two young women retreated upslope a little more, staying low behind brush and fallen tree trunks. When the baron had had the road cleared, most of the timber not harvested – mainly mounds of branches and an occasional diseased bole – had simply been dragged uphill on either side, providing several convenient places for an ambush, or to spy.
Molly crouched, put her cheek next to Hava’s and asked, ‘What do you think?’
Hava observed how the riders organized themselves: two feeding horses out of nosebags while four others stood in a circle in discussion. One walked a short distance back down the road, apparently to see if they were being followed. Hava said, ‘They’re meeting someone.’
‘How do you know?’
‘If they were just pausing to rest the horses they’d walk them slowly and then feed them once they reached town. They don’t know how long they have to wait for whoever is meeting them, and don’t want the horses hungry and restless if they have to linger. If it was anything else, they’d be riding into town, or finding a place to let them graze.’
Molly raised a questioning eyebrow.
Hava grinned. ‘My father, horse trader?’
Molly returned the smile. ‘Now?’
‘We wait,’ said Hava, and Molly nodded.
Hava had endured enough stints of observation as part of her training that she ignored the urge to drift off into random thoughts: the many unanswered questions about the choices that would come, if not soon, eventually. About her loyalty to the Council on Coaltachin and her years spent with Hatu – and their lost friend Donte – coming into conflict. She wrestled with that occasionally, electing to push it aside most times, content that when the time came for her to choose between a lifetime of friendship and love, and a sense of duty instilled since childhood, she would make that choice.
Instead she turned her attention to the soldiers waiting at the verge of the road below, attempting to see as much as she could without being seen. Molly had been correct; these men were a poor excuse for a mercenary company. She’d seen a number of those in her travels, and they were at best a scruffy lot, given to all manner of choices in armour, weapons, saddles, and mounts. The men below had chosen to wear some unlike garments, but they were all too clean, not in need of mending, obviously little worn. More revealing, they all wore the same boots, and the horses had identical tack. She was convinced if she got closer the swords and any bows would be alike. This was a company of soldiers, should anyone take a few moments to study them, and not just any soldiers – for garrison soldiers had variations in armour, weapons, and boots. These were castellans: personal soldiers of a noble, the best of his army, whichever army that might be.
‘Why are there so many of them?’ Molly whispered.
Hava shrugged. ‘Maybe we’ll find out.’
The two young women waited in silence while the men stood idly rotating every so often to ensure the horses didn’t wander off the road now that the feeding was over. Hava knew that sooner or later the horses would need water and softly asked Molly, ‘How far to water?’
Molly pointed to the road and then beyond it. ‘That way. Not far.’
Hava murmured, ‘They’ll have to water the horses soon.’